


Hints of the Past

by Highlander_II



Category: White Collar
Genre: Community: rarepairsfest, F/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 21:18:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7817596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Highlander_II/pseuds/Highlander_II
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sara is in Paris for work when she bumps into a familiar face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hints of the Past

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OzQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OzQueen/gifts).



Sara's always thought Paris was a beautiful city. Full of history and art and wine. She did not, however, think she would find herself half-sprawled against a wall, losing all of her parcels. "What the hell?" She checked her pockets and her purse - in case it had been a clumsy pickpocket.

"I'm sorry," came to her in perfect French, but with a familiar voice.

She looked up to find a pair of intense blue eyes blinking back at her. Eyes clearly as surprised to see her as she was to see him. "Neal?"

That patented shy smile of his bent his mouth as he turned away to begin gathering her shopping bags back into some semblance of order. "Hi, Sara," he said like they'd spoken just yesterday. The bastard.

She stared, gobsmacked, at him for several seconds. Slowly things began to shift and click into place in her head. "But-" she began, waiting for the rest of the thoughts to land where she needed them.

He looked at her, that smile still there. "I still am," he said, obviously aware of the question she was trying to ask. He collected her bag, got to his feet, then held out a hand to her. "Travers Létourneau," he gave as his name.

Sara took his hand and steadied herself on her feet. "How?" She still wasn't as articulate as she usually was.

Neal gave her another smile. "I'll tell you everything. But out here on the street isn't the best place." He waved down the road. "Come on, we'll go to my place."

Finally her head caught up with the situation. "You had better not leave out a single detail."

* * *

His apartment was typical of Paris. It was small, but somehow not stuffy. Much like his place in New York had been. He had a view of the river, which shouldn't have surprised her at all. Neal liked luxury, even subtle luxury.

She grinned and shook her head. "I'm not even going to ask how you afford this."

He grinned back as he tucked her groceries into the fridge. That was apparently all the answer she was going to get.

"So, Travers - " she began, "- you want to tell me why it is that you're not dead?"

Neal poured wine and they sat on the couch, where he explained the showdown with Keller and the aftermath. He shrugged as he finished. "It was the only way," he said. "The FBI was never going to let me go. I'd become too valuable an asset. And they were never going to take off the leash."

"So the _only_ way out was to fake your death?" Sara asked, incredulous.

"Okay," he acquiesced. "Maybe not the _only_ way. But it was the best way."

Neal had been trying to earn his freedom from the FBI for a long time. She fully understood why he would want to break those chains. Most days, she even agreed with him. "It's definitely the not-boring way," she commented. "But, Neal, you left all of your friends behind. Left them in the dark and hurting."

He shook his head. "I said it was the best way out, not the easiest. The hardest part was leaving New York and everything - everyone - behind."

She fed him a knowing little smirk. "Yeah, I know what that's like." She remembered leaving when her job transferred her to London. That hadn't been easy for her either. Packing as much of her life as she could afford to bring with her. She wondered for a moment, how much Neal had been able to get away with. Probably nothing more than whatever he was carrying at the time.

Lowering the glass from his lips, Neal added, "I did send you hints though."

"What are you talking about?"

He held up a postcard of the Empire State Building.

Sara frowned. "Wait. That was you?" A shake of her head and she shoved his shoulder. "Dammit, Neal, you bastard. I've spent a year trying to figure out where these things were coming from." She'd gotten several mysterious items - mostly postcards, but once a Chinese take-out menu - in the post, but she hadn't been able to piece together who they were from or why someone was sending them. She'd never considered they'd come from a supposedly dead man.

"Too subtle?" Neal teased with the boyish version of his grin this time. "I didn't even get to the Raphael."

She offered him a tight, sad smile back. "You really are an ass, you know that?" She closed her eyes and shook her head sadly, trying not to cry. "Dammit, Neal. I thought I'd gotten over you. And used to you being gone. Now this. Shit." She stood up from the couch and paced to the open balcony doors.

The view was spectacular. She could see herself living here. She closed her eyes to push that thought away. Her job was in London; she couldn't leave that to live with Neal. Besides, if someone, somewhere, figured out what he'd done, she'd be caught in the middle. And she didn't want that.

His warm hand on her hip drew her from her thoughts. She turned to face him as he whispered, "Don't think about anything but right now." Then his lips brushed the skin of her neck. Even more of those old feelings came back. Damn him.

She muttered another expletive before she drew him to her and kissed him like she needed it more than air. There was no resistance from him at all. Of course not. And she figured had it gone the other way around, she wouldn't have resisted either. She'd missed him.

No resistance, but she did find herself suddenly lifted from the floor and carried. "Tell me now if you want me to stop," he breathed against her mouth.

"Don't you dare," she replied, curling her legs around his waist. She would consider all of the ramifications of her decision later. Right now, she was focused on the strength of his arms as he carried her, the warmth of his body as she held onto him.

Neal lowered her to the bed, then stood back to strip out of his clothes. He only paused long enough to find out if she'd rather do it herself. She glared at him, told him to shut up and shimmied herself out of her dress.

Once she was out of her clothes, she curled a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him toward her. He moved willingly, crawling into the bed over her. Neither of them wasted any time. He was inside her before they even settled into the mattress. And she was dragging him in for a kiss as soon as they had.

It had been close to three years since they'd been together. But that didn't stop all of the memories from flooding back, like she'd been with him just last week. The feel of him, the weight of him, the scent of him. "I've missed you, Neal," she whispered against his throat.

She felt his body shiver against hers. Her arms tightened around him. She didn't want to ever let him go. When she'd left for London, it had been really hard to say good-bye to him. When she'd heard that he'd died, it was worse. She hadn't been able to tell him good-bye at all. Now that he was here - alive - if she had to say good-bye again...

She gasped, fingers clutching at his shoulders, when he rocked his hips in that delicious way he knew she loved so much. He did it again and she moaned against his mouth. Her feet began to tingle. Warm ripples ran up her legs. Her breath caught in her throat for that brief moment before her world rattled apart with her orgasm.

When she came back to herself, she could feel Neal panting against her collarbone, clearly as spent as she was. She chuckled and brushed a hand through his hair. "That was fun."

He laughed. "It really was," he agreed.

It was quiet there in his Paris apartment. The sounds of the city outside floating in through the windows, but otherwise, quiet. Until Neal broke the silence with a soft, but heartfelt, "I've missed you too, Sara."

She tightened her arms around him. "Is there any way at all to make this work?" she asked. Why she was considering it, knowing that even if they managed to make it work, they'd always be looking over their shoulders.

He nodded against her chest. "Yes. You have to fake your death. And we have to retire to an island with no extradition treaty with the US."

She gave his shoulder a shove, mostly ineffective at this angle though. "Oh my god, shut up, Neal." She laughed, but only to keep from crying. Could she really consider staying with him? Or even still seeing him? That fake proposal he'd presented her with on the observation deck of the Empire State Building had been really damned good and hit a lot of her buttons. And Neal had said he meant it. Maybe not the actual marriage proposal, but the rest of it. "There's got to be something less illegal."

Neal shifted and propped himself up on an elbow. "First, you have to stop calling me 'Neal'. Beyond that, my income is - mostly - legit. I don't know that I could live in London without issue, but I seem to be doing okay here in Paris." He narrowed his eyes and that boyish grin was back. "Does Sterling Bosch have an office in Paris?"

"You know they do or you wouldn't be asking."

"Transfer to the Paris office and live here."

"I don't know, Neal."

He frowned. "They won't let you move or are you having second thoughts?"

"I haven't even had first thoughts. This is a lot. You were dead an hour ago." He fed her a wicked smirk. She slapped his chest. "As far as I knew, you were. Now you're not. That's a lot to take in. I'm going to need some time before I just decide to pick up and move in with you."

"If you agree to stop in for visits, I think I can live with that while you decide."

She laughed at him. "Oh, you'd better believe I'll be making regular surprise trips. Someone has to make sure you don't steal any more priceless art."

"Allegedly."


End file.
